Coming Home
by Torithy
Summary: Sara helps Michael, but at what cost?


**Coming Home**

**A/N: My first fic in the Prison Break fandom – this is a one-shot Sara Tancreadi centric piece and was originally written in response to a challenge where you had to focus on a particular emotion, in this case guilt. It may contain spoilers if you haven't seen all of season one. I'd really appreciate any feedback and thanks for reading! **

Her gloved hands gripped the steering wheel as if afraid to let go, as if that was her only anchor. If she did let go, if she lost that focus … she'd be lost forever. And for what?

She had just risked everything she held dear and for _what_?

Her job was the one thing that had gotten her through her own personal hell, the light at the end of a long dark tunnel. It had provided her turning point and then her much needed stability. The sharp shock of finding herself powerless to help someone as a result of her own demons had been the kick she needed to bring things back into focus. To bring her life back into focus. The nature of the job, the long hours, the need to focus on other people – that was what kept her on the straight and narrow as she fought her way back from addiction to normality.

And it had been a hell of a fight.

She'd taken her share of knocks, had her setbacks. She couldn't deny that, especially to herself. But she had been getting there, rising to the challenges thrown at her. Proving herself to her father. Or she would have been if he'd given a damn. But he didn't really matter after all – she had done it for herself, not him. Because she hated the person she had become. She thought that person was dead.

But it was all coming rushing back, threatening to overwhelm her. The pressure, the urge to make it all stop. She thought she could handle it, thought she was strong enough … Maybe she was wrong. Wouldn't be the first time.

To start using again, and worse, to abuse her position to do so … What had she been _thinking_? But of course she hadn't been thinking at all, not really. When it all got too much, you didn't think – thoughts bombarded your mind, but you didn't think. You didn't have that choice. You were just _there_.

The feel of that needle sinking into her flesh, finding the vein, releasing the morphine into her system, allowing _her_ release … She knew it was wrong, but that wasn't how it felt. It felt like coming _home_ …

But deep down, she knew the implications. Knew a decision had already been made – she was just putting the safety net in place, providing herself with a haven to retreat to afterwards. She had already known then that she would do whatever Michael Scofield asked of her. And she knew he would ask. It was only a matter of time.

The door to the infirmary – she should have seen it coming. She knew he had something up his sleeve, if not literally then figuratively. She knew he would never rest until he had achieved the impossible and saved his brother's life. She didn't know how – she didn't need to. All he needed of her was that one small lapse, than convenient accident. Forget to lock the infirmary door – simple as that.

Simple …

Leave the door unlocked, walk away …

Away from everything she had worked for. He hadn't said that part, maybe hadn't even thought it, but that didn't make it any less of a certainty. Another crossroads, the stakes just as high – maybe higher. And she had made her choice. Sealed her fate.

Hot tears stained her cheeks and she tilted her head back against the headrest. _Why?_

What was it about _him_ that had made her throw everything away? Appearances could be deceptive, she knew that better than most, but what did she really know about him?

He was a criminal … with a gentle nature and a fierce loyalty to his family. He was a married man … seemingly in name alone. There was a connection between them … but nothing could ever come of it. Everything else was shrouded in mystery and contradictions. And for this, she had ended her career.

But strangely, the only part that really hurt was knowing she would probably never see him again. And she had probably helped him condemn himself to death along with his brother.

She had little doubt that he would succeed in his bid to break out – she could see he had a determined streak a mile wide, but she also knew his recapture was equally certain. Making the wardens look bad? You didn't get away with that for long.

When you got down to brass tacks, she had inadvertently signed his death warrant. How could she live with that on her conscience? She ached for him having to see his brother put to death, but to throw his own life after Lincoln's …

She should have said no.

She could go back. Undo what she had done. Maybe it wasn't too late – but she already knew that wasn't true. They'd have acted fast. They'd probably be over the wall by now – or dead.

Images flashed through her mind, images that would torment her ceaselessly – Michael crumpled at the foot of the wall, a step taken too hastily in the fear of getting caught ending all hope of escape … Michael slumped on the ground, bullet holes in his back, gunned down by the guards he thought he had outsmarted … Michael captured and dragged back to the prison, strapped to the chair and meeting the same fate as his brother …

Her head fell forward on her hands, resting on the steering wheel as her body shook with sobs. She couldn't live like this – wondering, imagining, until one day it would be headline news …

She couldn't live like that …

She sat up, trying in vain to wipe at her eyes, her shoulders still hitching. One hand fumbled into the pocket of her heavy coat, gloved fingers brushing the small bottle hidden there, feeling the outline of the syringe.

Familiar. Coming home.

The tears slowed, dried up, as it all seemed to just … fall away. No need to think, to be.

She couldn't live with the guilt. Couldn't.

Wouldn't.

**END**


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